


Incorrigible

by Thomas_H_Bombadil



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Goblins, Other, adventurer!Newt, newt is breaker of chains mother of nifflers, newt to the rescue, niffler angst? is that a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8693206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thomas_H_Bombadil/pseuds/Thomas_H_Bombadil
Summary: Many months before he encounters his first Obscurus and sets sail for America, Newt travels down under to document the magical wildlife of Australia. His bleeding heart leads to the attempted rescue of a Niffler in need. Unfortunately for the Magizoologist, he gets far more than he bargained for and finds himself ensnared in the magical criminal underground.





	1. Chapter 1

 

“I can’t say I care for this place at all,” murmured the beautiful, perfumed Kate to her bodyguard, Nigel. “Whenever Jim is finished with his business here—well, I’ll tell you, it can’t come soon enough for me.”

 

Nigel was silent, stoic, and very big. _Very well built_ , Kate thought guiltily, as she often did when it came to Nigel. She glanced over her shoulder at the bodyguard, where he always was, one pace behind her, impeccable in his suit, and always moving with the air of barely restrained panther. 

 

She turned her attention to the impressively large, glittery stone that adorned her slender finger, and sighed. 

 

An engagement ring, given to her by Jim. She’d been given the constant companion of Nigel at the same time as the ring. “You’re my gal now,” Jim had said. “I just want you go be safe. Nigel’s my best guy. I trust him.” 

 

“What don’t you like about Sydney?” said Nigel in a deep voice, uncharacteristically curious. 

 

“It’s too damn hot, if you ask me,” tittered Kate, flustered by Nigel’s sudden interest in her opinion. “And it’s got no class. Not like London. Or _Paris_.” She sighed romantically. “Sooner we get back there, the better.”

 

She tugged on her cherry-red skirt, inviting a small breeze around her sweaty thighs as she walked.

 

“I like Sydney,” responded Nigel simply. 

 

“Oh,” said Kate. She frowned to herself, troubled that Nigel did not enthusiastically agree with her. 

 

She glanced down at her ring finger again. Her jaw dropped open. 

 

“My ring!” she shrieked. She whirled around to face Nigel. “My engagement ring’s gone! Oh shoot, Jim is _not_ gonna like this. I must’ve dropped it!”

 

Panicked, Kate whirled around in the street, certain she’d see the ring glittering between the stones of the street.

 

A wiry, slight man with a mop of light ginger hair was crouched in the middle of the street behind her, right where she’d been only a few paces ago. He clutched a battered, brown suitcase in one hand, and he wore a wide-eyed, shocked expression. He took no notice of Kate or the hulking Nigel. 

 

She saw him reach into his pocket. 

 

 _My ring!_ thought Kate. _He took it!_

 

The wiry man sprang to his feet and made a beeline to an alley behind a dingy fabric shop. 

 

Kate’s jaw dropped. 

 

“Hey! Hey you!” shouted Kate at the wiry stranger. 

 

Then she remembered she had a hulking bodyguard. 

 

“Nigel! He took my engagement ring, I saw him. Get him!”

 

Kate was sure of what she’d seen. Barely a second had passed since she dropped Jim’s ring, and already this scumbag had snatched it! She clutched her purse tightly, eyes following Nigel’s broad back as he dove off into the crowd. 

 

A few minutes later, Nigel returned to her side, grim and stony-faced. 

 

“Well?” Kate asked eagerly. “Did you get him?”

 

“He got away,” said Nigel darkly. 

 

“What do you mean?” asked Kate, frantically. 

 

“He… he vanished.”

 

“What do you mean, vanished?”

 

“I mean vanished! One second he was there, and now he ain’t.”

 

Kate burst into tears. 

 

Honestly, there were no gentlemen left in the world. 

 

She _hated_ Sydney. 

 

* * *

 

Newt held his breath and pressed his back against the wall. He slunk along the alley. He heard the chittering of the Niffler, and a male voice mumbling. 

 

“Worse haul than usual, today,” chided the voice. “You keep this up, I’ll drop you on the train tracks. Now come on—back in your burrow, if you know what’s good for you. 

 

Newt heard something like a door snap shut, then a low whine of a panicked creature. 

 

“Ah, shut up,” said the voice. 

 

Newt reached the end of an alley and saw the silhouette of a very short figure with a long nose and pointy ears. The curled claws clutched a large, black carpet bag. The carpet bag emitted muffled chittering. Newt heard the sounds of little claws scraping on glass. 

 

 _Goblins in Sydney_ , thought Newt with wonder. What was more, this goblin had a _Niffler_ , of all things. Not unheard of for sure—Nifflers were a longtime favorite of goblins. Nevertheless, Newt was surprised at the recklessness he’d just witnessed. The Niffler had tore its way though a muggle street, pilfering the pocket of every man, woman, and child who wasn’t looking. 

 

He’d even seen the little creature slip a diamond ring right off some woman’s finger. 

 

The goblin reached out a single claw and touched three different bricks on the wall. Newt watched quietly as the bricks rearranged themselves into a doorway. The goblin pushed the door, and Newt saw beyond to a dark den emitting a low din of conversation. He smelled the expected smoke and alcohol, but he also saw the flashes of a few casual spells.

 

Newt waited a few seconds until the door swung shut behind the goblin. Then, he quickly slipped through the door himself just as the bricks reformed back into a flat wall. 

 

Newt found himself in a dark tavern. There were goblins here and there, but also a dozen or so witches and wizards. Mugs and shot glasses zoomed overhead. Newt watched the goblin with the Niffler take a seat in the corner. The goblin seemed to take no notice of him. 

 

Newt, trying to act natural and looking anywhere but the goblin, took a seat at the bar and set his suitcase at his feet. A very pretty barmaid with round cheeks and bright blue eyes swept up to him. 

 

“What’ll it be, then?” she asked him. 

 

“Erm, just water,” said Newt, distractedly, glancing at the goblin out of the corner of his eyes. 

 

“Really?” asked the barmaid drily. “You ever _try_ the water here?”

 

Newt’s eyes darted around. He realized he was actually going to have to order something. 

 

“Erm… Water, and…”

 

“…and?” prompted the pretty witch, a little exasperated. 

 

“…Firewhiskey,” said Newt offhand.

 

The witch looked him up and down. 

 

“You’re English?” she, asked tartly. 

 

“Erm… yes,” said Newt. 

 

“Well, Mr. England. Most wizards down under never heard of firewhiskey. You’ll have to ask for something we actually have on the shelf.”

 

“If you can serve me whatever is usual here,” said Newt, forcing a smile, and failing to meet the barmaid’s eye. “Please,” he added. 

 

The witch looked at him skeptically. 

 

“Alright then,” she said, though her tone said “your funeral”. 

 

A small shot glass zoomed in front of him containing what looked, smelled, and smoked like lava. Newt stared at it morosely for a moment. He briefly thought about the dwindling gold in his pocket—the meager advance on the commission for his book—and the cost of _whatever this glass of Australian wizard beverage was_ , chipping away at his remaining funds. 

 

But there were more pressing matters. He turned his stealthy attention back to the goblin. 

 

The goblin was seated at a grubby corner table, putting his head together with another of his kind. They murmured together in their own language. The goblin looked distressed. His claws were wrapped tightly around the black carpet bag.

 

He couldn’t hear the whines of the little creature in the din of the bar—but he could remember the creature’s distressed chittering from the alleyway. And he remembered the goblin’s threat to leave the poor little fellow on the train tracks. 

 

Newt had no idea what he might do yet. He resolved to watch and wait.

 

“So, what brings you down under?” asked the pretty witch at the bar. 

 

“Oh, I’m writing a book,” said Newt, distractedly. “Doing my field research, you see.”

 

“A book?” said the witch, perking up. “What about?”

 

“Well, it’s comprehensive field guide to magical creatures. Their various habitats, magical properties, mating habits, how to care for them, that sort of thing. But, perhaps most importantly, why wizards should—“

 

“What are you, some kind of zookeeper?” asked the witch, overwhelmed. 

 

“No, no hardly. I’m a Magizoologist.”

 

“So you study magical creatures?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, that’s a first,” said the witch drily. 

 

Newt was somewhat surprised at that. Australia had some of the richest diversity of magical creatures of the all the places on his itinerary. 

 

Newt suddenly stood up straight, because the goblin with a Niffler had sidled into a stool beside him. 

 

“Did I hear you say you know a thing or two about magical creatures?” said the goblin in a low voice. 

 

Newt, caught off guard, fussed with his hissing drink.

 

“Erm, yes.”

 

The goblin squinted his black eyes and looked Newt up and down. 

 

“You look like you’re on hard times, friend,” said the goblin, eyes hovering on Newt’s rather grubby shirt. 

 

“No, not really,” said Newt. 

 

“Be that as it may,” said the goblin, unconvinced, “I can cut you in on something, if you can sort out a problem with my critter.” 

 

The goblin’s eyes darted to his black bag. 

 

_The Niffler._

 

Newt clenched his jaw, carefully planning his next words. 

 

“That would depend on the sort of creature and the nature of the problem,” said Newt.

 

“Ever heard of a Niffler?” said the goblin. 

 

Newt nodded. 

 

“Mid-sized rodent, native to the British Isles, typically black of fur, distant relative of the non-magical mole,” reeled off Newt. He added, “Has an irrepressible fondness for anything valuable and shiny.” 

 

“That’s the one,” said the goblin. He reached out a hand. Newt understood he was meant to shake it. “Name’s Aginook.” 

 

“Newt Scamander,” said Newt, genially as he could. 

 

“You ever cure a sick Niffler, Scamander?”

 

“I daresay I know enough to try,” said Newt, perking up. 

 

“Well, then I’d like you to take a look at mine. He not working so well. Come on.”

 

Newt glanced at the barmaid, who was busy with another wizard now. He sighed, and relieved his pocket of a few coins. He left the fizzling lava drink on the bar, untouched.

 

“This way,” said Aginook, leading him off down a dark corridor. Newt kept his eyes fixed on the carpet bag as he followed the goblin.

 

* * *

 

In the back of the tavern was a dusty inn, and Aginook led Newt into a mildly dank bedroom. Though the window floated noises from a busy muggle street outside. The room was strewn with the goblin’s belongings—he’d obviously been staying there a while. 

 

In the corner was a large black safe with a very ornate, complex-looking lock. Newt looked at the safe curiously, until he felt Aginook’s eyes on him. Remembering how jealously goblins were known to guard their treasure, Newt quickly turned his eyes to the window and smiled awkwardly at nothing in particular. 

 

“You got an asking price?” said the goblin. 

 

Newt was caught off guard by this. He cleared his throat.

 

“I’ll have to make a thorough assessment of the creature’s particular illness first,” he said. 

 

“How complicated can it be?” asked the goblin, eyes narrowing. 

 

“If you know anything about Nifflers, you’ll know they can suffer from a very wide range of afflictions,” said Newt, keeping his voice measured. 

 

“All right,” murmured Aginook, annoyed. “Let’s take a look at you.”

 

The goblin set down the carpet bag and opened it. Inside was a crystal cube with transparent walls. Huddled in the center of the cube, trembling, was a the small black Niffler.

 

The cube was tiny, Newt registered with horror—barely twice the Niffler’s body length. 

 

Newt stared, aghast. 

 

“You keep it in _that_ thing?”

 

“I’ve gotta hold him somehow,” said the goblin. “Nifflers, you know. They slip through cracks a cockroach can’t.”

 

The Niffler took notice of the black safe and pressed himself desperately against the glass of his prison. He snorted and whined, little claws scrabbling on the glass. 

 

 _He senses the gold within the safe,_ observed Newt. _And he’s got nothing to himself for nesting in that pitiful prison!_

 

Newt felt a lump rise in his throat. He was suddenly angry—angry about the abysmal conditions Aginook had subjected the Niffler to. 

 

Newt knelt down next to the crystal box. The little creature’s fur was patchy, and streaks of mucus leaked from its dull eyes. It looked malnourished and sickly. 

 

“Mr. Aginook,” said Newt, somewhat sternly, “You _do_ realize that depriving a Niffler of precious metal to nest in has catastrophic effects on the creature's ability metabolize?”

 

Aginook stared at Newt, nonplussed. 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means,” said Newt impatiently, “that… that gold is like water to a Niffler. This creature will only get sicker and weaker until you allow it a proper bedding of gold.”

 

The goblin looked suddenly fidgety. 

 

“How much gold would that be?”

 

“Well, ideally forty times the Niffler’s body mass.”

 

“Forty _times_! How can such a little creature need that much gold just to nest in?” said the goblin, annoyed.

 

Newt hardly knew what to say. How could a goblin—beings that had famously stewarded Nifflers over centuries—be so clueless about the creature’s needs?

 

Newt noticed that Aginook looked very troubled. His eyes kept darting between the safe and a ticking clock on the wall. 

 

“Well, let’s say he can’t have any gold to nest in. How long do you think he’s got?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“How long before he croaks? Will he make it to the end of the week?”

 

Newt blinked several times before the weight of Aginook’s words fully hit him. 

 

“Mr. Aginook, surely you’ve got enough gold in that safe for that Niffler to nest in. He’ll not only make it to the end of the week, he’ll live happily for many years.”

 

“If I _could_. I’m living in the real world, Scamander,” said Aginook darkly. The goblin’s eyes flickered nervously back to the clock. “We’ve all got our debts to pay. Come on, there’s got to be something else you can do for the thing.” 

 

“Give it gold,” snapped Newt. “Whatever you can spare. And a larger cage, if you can manage.”

 

“That should keep it alive longer?” said Aginook. 

 

“It should,” said Newt. Inside, he was boiling. 

 

The goblin looked annoyed. 

 

“I suppose you want to be compensated for your _expertise_ ,” needled the goblin, although it was clear in his voice that Aginook was less-than-impressed with Newt. 

 

“Whatever you were prepared to pay me,” said Newt carefully, “I’d prefer it if you gave it to give it to the Niffler. Good day, Mr. Aginook.” 

 

Newt swept out of the room. He cast one sideways glance back at the imprisoned Niffler, a plan already forming in his head. 

 

* * *

 

Newt was almost out the magic doorway of the tavern when someone caught him by the elbow. It was the barmaid. 

 

“In Sydney for five minutes and you’re already getting mixed up with Aginook?” she said quietly. 

 

“Erm, what?” 

 

“I’m saying, Aginook—that goblin you were talking to—he always owes money, and he’s always getting into trouble. Tends to rub off on anyone he drags along with him.”

 

Newt looked at her seriously. 

 

“Why are you telling me this?”

 

“You seem like a nice bloke,” said the witch, shrugging. “If a bit daft. Now… our patrons count on us for some… discretion. So if you'd just pretend you didn’t hear this from me, that’d be real swell.” She paused, then added, “Just stay away from Aginook,” before darting off. 


	2. Chapter 2

Newt waited on the roof of the tavern for a long time before Aginook once more emerged from the hidden door. The goblin was wrapped in a trench coat and wore a brimmed hat low over his face to hide his strange features from the muggles. He could easily be mistaken for a very short man. The black carpet bag was clutched in his hand. 

 

Newt followed Aginook through the maze of the city below, Apparating rooftop to rooftop as quietly as he could. Aginook slipped in and out of crowds. He crossed busy streets and darted down abandoned alleys. 

 

At last, the goblin arrived at a decrepit-looking building with boarded up windows. Newt scrutinized the structure. He had to get closer.

 

With a _pop_ much louder than he intended, Newt Apparated onto a thick crossbeam in the rafters inside. He’d been rather sloppy with his placement, however, and immediately slipped from the beam, only just catching himself before falling a great height to the floor below. Breathing heavily, and legs dangling under him, he quietly pulled himself up, hugging his suitcase securely to his side. 

 

Newt flattened himself face-down against the beam only seconds before Aginook and another goblin entered the floor below. 

 

“I hope you have a good reason for this interruption, Aginook,” sneered the second goblin. “I’m very, very busy. Gold doesn’t move itself.”

 

“A fact I know all too well,” said Aginook, slowly removing his hat. “I would apologize, Orlock, but you seem mistaken about who owes what to whom.” 

 

“Whatever do you mean?” sneered Orlock. “I have no debts with _you_. In fact, it’s usually the other way around, my ledgers tell me. Why, you have a debt coming due in three days time.”

 

Aginook looked very tense for the barest flicker of a moment. 

 

“About _that_ ,” said Aginook coolly. “I think you’ll find it wisest to renegotiate the terms of that lease. Your Niffler is _underperforming_.”

 

Newt tensed and leaned forward at the mention of the Niffler. 

 

“Hardly my fault,” scoffed Orlock. “Is that really what this is about? My good sir, reacquaint yourself with reading a contract before you sign it! I’m not entitled to your gains from the Niffler, _nor am I liable for your losses_ —and you agreed to that in your own hand."

 

Aginook smiled like he had something up his sleeve. 

 

“Fair enough, if you want to be so narrow about it. But you, Orlock, have a bigger picture to think about.” 

 

“Let me guess, my reputation?” said Orlock, sounding bored. 

 

Aginook gave him a pointed look. 

 

“Nifflers are a new venture for you. You want to start out strong? Or do you want every goblin in Sydney calling you a weasel?”

 

“They can call me whatever they like. Now if you’ll excuse me—“

 

“You leased a substandard Niffler, Orlock. It won’t stand. Now, let’s renegotiate.”

 

Orlock sighed. 

 

“Alright, Aginook. I’ll humor you, but only out of the goodness of my heart, and out of respect for the friendship between our fathers.” Orlock paused. “And because you probably can’t come up with the money and that makes me embarrassed for you. You brought him with you? Fine, then let’s see the little bugger.”

 

Newt held his breath as Aginook opened the carpet bag and drew out the Niffler’s crystal tank. He placed it gently on the floor at Orlock’s feet. 

 

Newt could see the small creature huddled like before. It seemed Aginook had indeed taken a cue from his encounter with Newt, for the little creature’s snout rested on a piddly pile of gold coins. 

 

“Look at him. He’s all sick. I took him out twice today—he’s not catching nearly enough gold to make the price worth—“

 

“Is this a sting, Aginook?” said Orlock suddenly in a steely voice. 

 

“What?” said Aginook, surprised. “Orlock, you know me. No, of course not!”

 

“Then why is there a wizard watching us?

 

Newt’s breath caught in his chest as the goblins, in unison, turned their eerie black eyes up to Newt’s hiding place. 

 

Orlock sneered and clapped his hands. There was a flash of magic, and the beam under Newt went wobbly as a snake, bucking Newt, suitcase and all, up on the air. Newt shouted as the floor rushed up at him. Then everything went black. 

 

\----------

 

When Newt came to, he was lying on his side, his legs and arms tightly bound. 

 

“Have you met this man before?” came Orlock’s voice. 

 

“No,” lied Aginook, quickly. “Never seen him before in my life.”

 

Newt slowly opened his eyes. He blinked several times. The two goblins stood over him, shoulder to shoulder. Orlock, to Newt’s horror, held his wand delicately between two terrible claws. 

 

He stared around wildly, seeking his suitcase. With relief, he saw it laying only a few feet away from him, quite unscathed. 

 

“Are you an Auror?” asked Orlock. 

 

“What?” said Newt. His chest ached. The wind had been knocked out of him. “N-no.”

 

Orlock’s eyes brightened at this, and Newt immediately regretted _not_ pretending to be an Auror. A murdered Auror would attract far more unwanted attention than an unregistered foreign wizard. He had just let a pair of criminal goblins know they were in the clear. _Stupid_! 

 

“Well then I’m even more curious to know what you’re doing here,” said Orlock. 

 

Newt’s eyes darted quickly from the Niffler to the goblins, then back to the Niffler. He had a better view of the creature from down on the floor. The Niffler watched Newt with curious beady eyes, tiny claws splayed possessively across his meager gold collection. He still looked underfed and ill, but his eyes, reflecting gold, were livelier than back at the tavern. 

 

“I’m… I’m a traveler.”

 

“You’re a _Brit_.”

 

“Er, yes. I’m carrying out some very important work for the Ministry in London, you see,” said Newt hurriedly.

 

It wasn’t true. At all, actually. 

 

In fact, he was on a long-term leave of absence from the Ministry, and at this point, his sole duties were to his publisher. However, Newt hoped mentioning the Ministry of Magic may scare the goblins out of doing something too terrible to him.  
  
  
Newt looked back at the Niffler, who watched him intently. He made up his mind in an instant. 

 

"I'm a magizoologist," Newt blurted out suddenly, and he rambled on at great length, explaining to the goblins what that meant. 

  
  
There was a long pause when he'd finished. 

  
  
"You're telling me you're an expert in the care of magical creatures," said Orlock flatly.   


  
"That's right," said Newt. He chanced a glance at Aginook, who was still close-mouthed about having met Newt before.

  
  
Orlock turned his head close to Aginook's. The goblins squabbled to each other for several long minutes. Newt couldn't understand any of it--he'd never developed the ear for Gobbledegook. At long last, they turned back to him.   
  
  
  
"You'd like to get out of here alive, and unmaimed, I assume?" said Orlock.   
  
  
  
"Yes," said Newt simply.   
  
  
  
Orlock stared him down. The goblin's dark eyes seemed to penetrate him. Newt kept his face as unassuming as possible, eyes fixed firmly on Orlock's left shoulder.   
  
  
  
"Help me sort out a Niffler problem," said Orlock. "And, as they say, _deal's a deal_."  
  
  
  
Newt glanced at his suitcase from the corner of his eyes. 

  
  
"Alright," he agreed softly. "What do you need?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cliffhanger, Batman! More to follow shortly. This is fun.


	3. Chapter 3

Orlock was master of a large suite of tunnels beneath the abandoned building. The two goblins walked Newt through the catacombs, prodding him from behind. Torches lit the way, and as Newt passed various archways, he glimpsed the shadows of busy-looking goblins and—here and there—the glint of gold. 

 

Orlock’s office was very grand. At the center stood a large, ornately carved desk standing upon four golden lion claws. The door clicked shut on its own accord behind the three of them, and Orlock took a seat in a plush, high-backed armchair behind the desk. 

 

Against the far wall stood a tall, black safe, similar to the one in Aginook’s room, though larger, and more polished. 

 

Aginook stood by the door wearing a foul expression. He clutched Newt’s suitcase in one hand, and the Niffler’s carpet bag in the other, his eyes following Orlock suspiciously. 

 

“Have a seat, Mr. Scamander,” said Orlock in a businesslike voice, waving his hand at a pair of small, cushioned chairs at the front of the desk. 

 

Warily, Newt slid into the chair on the left. His ribs still ached from his fall, and while the goblins had cut the binds from his legs, his hands remained tied at his front. What was worse, his wand was hidden away Orlock’s breast pocket. 

 

“Aginook,” said Orlock. “Do leave Mr. Scamander’s luggage in the corner there.”

 

Aginook, looking displeased to receive an order from Orlock, dropped Newt’s suitcase unceremoniously on the floor and cast Orlock a dirty look.

 

Newt winced as the case hit the floor with a heavy _clunk_. The unusually complex expansion charm on the case would shield the beasts within from the impact, but Newt knew as well as any wizard that charms wear thin with overuse. He always tried to handle the case as carefully as he could. 

 

 _You mustn’t give away what’s in the case. You mustn’t let them know,_ thought Newt hurriedly. He relaxed his expression as well as he could and stared at his feet.

 

“And leave that Niffler here,” said Orlock sharply. “I need to speak with my guest in private.”

 

“Orlock, I _need_ that Niff—“ began Aginook in a warning voice, before the second goblin cut him off. 

 

“You’ll return the Niffler to me now,” said Orlock firmly. “I release you from your payment obligation. It’s as good a deal as any, and very generous on my part. You walk away clean from I debt I know you can’t pay, and you still keep whatever pitiful amount of valuables that Niffler managed to collect for you so far. Happy?”

 

Aginook all but hissed. 

 

“Now, _leave_ ,” said Orlock calmly. 

 

Aginook looked as though he were about to launch himself across the room at Orlock. His long claws unfurled at his side. Then, as if thinking better of it, he turned on his heel, slamming the door very enthusiastically on his way out. 

 

“My, my,” said Orlock, tutting softly. “I haven’t seen old Aginook that desperate for quite a while. Poor lad. We were all hoping he’d clean himself up.”

 

Orlock opened a large tome on his desk. He snatched up a fine, white feather quill, licked the tip of it, dipped it in ink, and began to scrawl. 

 

“You have a big heart, don’t you Mr. Scamander?”

 

“Er, sorry, what?” said Newt, surprised.

 

“I was trying to work out why you followed Aginook to our meeting, what reason a foreign wizard would have to pry into the affairs of goblins… You were trying to rescue my Niffler. Very heroic of you.”

 

Newt said nothing. He stared at the white quill moving back and forth. 

 

“I’ve always heard you wizards say us goblins are uncompromising,” continued Orlock, “but I myself owe much of my success to being able to make a compromise or… improvisation here and there.”

 

“Like calling off your deal with Aginook?” chanced Newt, on edge.

 

“For _example_ ,” said Orlock grinning wickedly. Newt noticed that two of the goblin’s fangs were cast in gold. “Truth be told, I never stood to gain much from lending the Niffler from Aginook, alone. He was a trial run, nothing more.”

 

“A trial run?” asked Newt. “Whatever for?”

 

“Oh, Mr. Scamander, you must have seen what’s going on up there,” said Orlock, pointing one claw to the ceiling. “A great city, growing everyday, brimming with gold, and jewels, and thousands upon thousands of careless, unsuspecting people. They step off their ships in the harbor, and they come back from the wilds, pockets brimming from the latest gold rush. A goblin could become wealthy for life up there, even just scrounging the gutters… if only he had a Niffler.”

 

Orlock smiled to himself. 

 

“Highly illegal, of course,” he added simply. 

 

Newt’s mind worked furiously, and at last, he put it together. 

 

“You mean to lend Nifflers to other goblins,” said Newt slowly. “So they’ll take the blame for it if they get caught?”

 

“Well, at least you have a brain on you. Half of my business is making the money. The other half is hiding where it came from. It’s much cleaner if none of my people handle the Nifflers up top, you see. No, we just demand a reasonable payment for their use by separate parties. Makes a steady stream of gold for us… and far less risky.”

 

Newt shuddered at the thought of Nifflers being traded away into hands as careless as Aginook’s—or worse. 

 

“I still don’t see why you need _my_ help,” pressed Newt. 

 

“I need a Niffler handler. One who really knows the creatures.” 

 

Orlock clapped his hands together, and the little Niffler’s cube zoomed out of the carpet bag and dropped itself onto the great desk between Orlock and Newt. Newt’s jaw clenched—the creature looked terrified. He circled around in his tiny confine, squeaking and trembling. 

 

“I’ve only got the one so far,” Orlock told him. “I lent it a Aginook so I could figure out what parts of this venture needed refining. Our forefathers in Britain may have known their Nifflers well, but I’m afraid most of that knowledge us lost to us here. That’s where _you_ come in.”

 

Newt looked up at Orlock nervously. 

 

“I don’t like seeing this Niffler in such a sorry state, Mr. Scamander. No more than you do. You do want to help the little critter, don’t you?”

 

“Yes,” said Newt quietly.

 

“Then work for me. Train my Nifflers to be stealthy. Teach my people how to breed them, and care for them. See that they stay in top form. It won’t do well for business if my Nifflers keep dying off or getting caught by the Aurors, of course.”

 

Newt opened and closed his mouth a few times. 

 

“Mr… Mr. Orlock, how long do you intend to keep me prisoner here?” asked Newt, fearing the answer. 

 

“Oh, not long. Shouldn’t take more than a few months, now should it?”

 

“I… I do have things to do… The Ministry…” stammered Newt. 

 

“The Ministry doesn’t know you are in Australia, don’t pretend,” said Orlock flatly. “You’ll receive a fair compensation, of course. I’ll have my wizard friend wipe your memory when your service is finished of course—can’t have our little secrets getting out! But rest assured, a nice sum of gold will find its way to you, wherever you are. You’ll think you’ve received an inheritance from a distant aunt who just died—something like that. I do try to pay those in my service fairly, after all.”

  
There was a long pause.   
  
  
"Look, I know your type. You're thinking about how guilty you'll feel, getting mixed up in all this. But you won't remember a thing when it's all over, I promise. You'll have a clear conscience--and plenty of gold--once we Obliviate you. You've got nothing to lose, Mr. Scamander."

 

“How do I know I won’t simply disappear into the harbor when your finished with me?” asked Newt. 

 

“I suppose you don’t,” reasoned Orlock, before adding brightly, “But I’ll _definitely_ have to kill you if you refuse, so it’s a simple choice, really.”

 

Newt’s heart hammered in his chest. His mind was reeling. With his hands bound, wand forfeit, and suitcase out of reach, he was, in every sense of the word, trapped. And even worse, his beasts, though still undiscovered, were trapped right along with him. He’d gotten them all into this mess. _Stupid!_

 

How long could he keep them hidden? And what cruel uses would Orlock think of for his creatures should he find them? 

 

“Our goals are well aligned, Mr. Scamander. I want what’s best for my Nifflers. And so do you.”

 

Newt’s mouth twitched. 

 

“Then I suppose I really haven’t got a choice, have I?” said Newt. 

 

“No. Is that all the luggage you have?” asked Orlock, eying Newt’s suitcase. 

 

“Er, yes.”

 

“Got anything sharp in there? Extra wand? Enchanted object I ought to know about?”

 

Newt froze, and Orlock smiled horribly. 

 

“Let’s take a look, shall we?”

 

The goblin clapped his hands once more, and this time Newt’s suitcase zoomed to his desk. Newt stared in horror, and his entire body tensed up. He was going to have to move—and think—fast as soon as Orlock saw the interior of the case. 

 

The goblin carefully opened the clasps and lifted the lid, with Newt watching on, wound like a coil. 

 

“Hm. Traveling light for a wizard, aren’t you?” Orlock commented lightly. 

 

Newt was taken aback. Then, slowly, he peeked his head around the lid, and, to his great surprise, realized his suitcase was set to Muggle Worthy. All Orlock saw was a jumble of pajamas, a spare shirt, and a notebook. 

 

 _It must have jolted the Muggle Worthy charm when Aginook dropped the case!_ thought Newt excitedly. 

 

“I always found I never needed much when traveling,” said Newt casually with a shrug. “Can I keep my belongings at least?”

 

"I don't see why not," said Orlock rather kindly. "I like my guests to be as comfortable as possible."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started out with this cute idea for how Newt rescued the Niffler, and then somehow it turned into a goblin-centered crime drama. 
> 
> Yay!
> 
> At this point, I actually do have the rest of the story plotted out. Will all be wrapped up over a few more chapters.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt stays in a snazzy goblin Airbnb.

Newt was escorted by Orlock and two nameless, silent goblin cronies down a long passageway. The goblins’ faces were waxy and mysterious in the torchlight, the sharp angles of their noses made more terrifying by the flames. Orlock’s black eyes glittered with satisfaction. 

 

Though his hands were still bound, Newt toyed with the idea of simply turning tail and running until he reached the street surface. Surely he could remember the way back up? Goblins were small, and Newt’s stride was long. He supposed he could even fight them off the muggle way, if it came to that—for Newt’s wand was still with Orlock. Goblins had their own form of magic, but took a blow to the head just like anybody else. 

 

Almost as if reading his mind, Orlock smiled nastily and said, “I’ve had a number of enchantments placed over my halls. No one comes in I don’t want. No one gets out I don’t want.”

 

 _Curious_ , thought Newt. He wondered if the floor beneath him would know to open into a bottomless pit should he flee. Perhaps he’d be chased by a large boulder down the narrow passage. Perhaps the passageways would shift around, trapping him in an endless maze until he starved. 

 

Who could say? Goblins were famous for deadly, underground traps, especially when guarding treasure. Gringotts depended upon it. 

 

“I assure you, Mr. Orlock, your rather convincing threat of death is enough to keep me here,” said Newt. “Until my work is finished, that is.” 

 

“Smart lad,” approved Orlock. 

 

 _You don’t know the half of it_ , thought Newt. His bound hands tightened on the handle of his case, which knocked against his knees as he walked. 

 

They arrived at a thick, iron door. One of the silent cronies unhooked a large ring of golden keys from his belt. There were six keys in total. One by one, the goblin removed each key, placing it in a keyhole as he went. When all the keys sat in a keyhole, the goblin turned each key one by one. Softly, the door clicked open. 

 

Newt peered beyond into a dark, yet handsome apartment with intricate designs carved into the the polished stone walls, and heavy solid wood furniture.

 

“Is this where I’ll be staying?” asked Newt. 

 

“Look, I know your kind, _wizards_ , aren’t at home underground as my people,” said Orlock. “But I think you’ll find it… adequate. I’ll leave you to get settled in. You’ll find everything you need here.”

 

Newt knew that Orlock’s definition of “everything you need” was unlikely to include a wand, a portkey, an invisibility cloak, a broomstick, or even a halfway decent muggle weapons cache—the sorts of things Newt found he had great need of in his present situation. 

 

He figured Orlock’s presumed “needs” were of the more humble variety. Food, for certain. A bed. A hot bath, if he was lucky. 

 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” said Orlock. “Sleep well, Mr. Scamander, if you can. In the morning, we get to work.” 

 

The second goblin, without the keys, pushed a hand roughly into the small of Newt’s back, and he staggered into the apartment, case and all. The heavy iron door slammed shut behind him. 

 

Newt felt a true surge of fear rush through him for a brief moment as each of the six locks clicked shut. Newt peered out a little barred window in the door, which was no larger than his fist, and saw the three goblins, smiling wickedly. 

 

“Er, Mr. Orlock,” said Newt, trying to keep his wits about him. “It seems my hands are still bound. Er, surely—“

 

Orlock cut him with a clap of his hands, and the binds swiftly unfurled from his wrists and fell to the floor.

 

“Goodnight, Mr. Scamander,” said Orlock rather kindly. “I am very pleased to have you with us.”

 

Newt didn’t respond until a few moments later, when the footsteps of the goblins had faded. 

 

“Goodnight, Mr. Orlock,” whispered Newt, becoming more resolute by the moment that he wouldn’t be called upon to say “good morning”. 

 

He didn’t know just yet what he would do. But he knew he’d figure something out. After all, he always did. 

 

Newt set down his suitcase gently and had a look around his strange, new prison. 

 

As expected, there was a bed—a handsome, human-sized fixture smothered in a mountain of pillows and wreathed by luxurious velvet curtains. The black stone floor were relieved by an assortment of plush Persian rugs. 

 

Towards the back of the room was even a kitchen. Newt rummaged through the cabinets, finding fine china, gleaming pots and pans, and silverware made of real silver. In one cabinet, he found an assortment of smoked meats and cheeses. In another, fresh bread. 

 

Newt even had to smile when he discovered the bathroom. The tub, large enough to hold six of him, was carved into the very stone and surrounded by six brassy faucets, each adorned by a jewel of a different color. 

 

He glanced at the runes on the wall and wondered how long this luxurious cell had been here. Had it always even been a cell? How many centuries ago had goblins come to Australia? Had this place even been made by goblins? 

 

Newt didn’t dare venture into his suitcase—not just yet. He didn’t want to get caught should Orlock or one of his cronies return. He pressed his ear against the window, and could still hear the distant hum of footsteps and activity in Orlock’s catacombs. 

 

No, best wait for it to quiet down out there before going into the case. 

 

But Newt’s mind was already churning, plotting an escape. He did a mental inventory of the contents of his shed. 

 

Tools? He had a modest assortment of field knives, a cleaver, dragonhide gloves, and quite a few nets. But what use would they be against a sextuple-locked door? 

 

Suddenly, it hit Newt. He was dizzied by his own slowness to see an obvious solution. He glanced up at the little fist-sized window in the door, sizing the gaps with his fingers. 

 

“I have a Bowtruckle,” he said out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, kudos(es?), and appreciation. I'm baffled and delighted when people read what I write.


	5. Chapter 5

Newt wasn’t certain how long it had been since Orlock had locked him up—though he could keep a keen sense of time by the sun from his many years in the field, the underground catacombs were far less amenable. How long had it been? An hour? Three?

 

Newt kept a pocket watch in his Muggle Worthy compartment, but it was only for show. He hadn’t wound the thing for months. 

 

He checked the little window periodically, assessing how busy the catacombs were. Distant voices and cackles still floated in from the corridors beyond. Every so often, would hear little goblin feet scurry by the door. 

 

When he grew tired of his vigil at the window, Newt flopped down on the kingly bed and folded his hands across his stomach. 

 

 _Not at all uncomfortable_ , he reflected. Certainly a few grades above his camp bed the the suitcase. 

 

He realized he _was_ rather worn out after a day of running around Sydney and being taken prisoner by Niffler-wrangling goblins.  

 

After a few minutes, Newt made his way to the kitchen, and, with a small, resigned shrug, fixed himself a snack from the cabinet contents. 

 

After eating, Newt even sat down to compose a short entry in his journal. He’d made some interesting observations about Dougal the Demiguise that morning, who seemed to have taken a rather parental role over some of the younger creatures. Most curious! He must write it down before he forgot. 

 

Once he thoroughly recorded his observations, he paused, then added at the bottom of the page: 

 

_I seem to have found myself entangled in a goblin crime ring involving the illegal breeding and use of Nifflers. The goblin boss is entertaining some troubling notions of using my skills to further his enterprise. He promised me gold and a clean memory should I succeed; and certain death should I refuse._

 

_Currently locked in a dungeon, though comfortable enough, and well fed. Eagerly seeking means of escape for myself and the Niffler through the aid of a Bowtruckle._

 

Newt set down his quill. He figured that about covered it. 

 

Much later, when he was certain most of the goblins had cleared out, Newt carefully placed his suitcase behind the bed and climbed inside. 

 

He made a quick round of the inhabitants and fed the Graphorns extra (the female was pregnant). Then, he made his way to the little tree where the Bowtruckles lived. 

 

The littlest one, Pickett, sat hunched up, far out on a limb. The other Bowtruckles clustered around trunk, waved their spindly fingers at him, and jeered. 

 

“Oh come on, now,” Newt said, scolding the lot of them. “There’s no need for that. This is Pickett’s tree just as much as yours. You’re not to keep the wood lice from him anymore.” 

 

A few of the Bowtruckles had the decency to look guilty, but Titus, the largest, hissed at Newt defiantly. 

 

Newt sighed. He never knew if he should be observing the goings-on of the Bowtruckle colony—or intervening in their deplorable behavior. In his mind, he knew creatures were, well, _creatures,_ and he was meant to study them as they were. 

 

But his heart too often got the better of him. 

 

“Now come on, Pickett, I’ve got a very special job for you.”

 

Pickett perked up a little and tentatively stepped onto Newt’s outstretched hand. 

 

Newt clambered out of the suitcase with Pickett clinging to his shoulder. The apartment seemed twice as dark after a brief tour of the case. 

 

“I’m afraid things have gone rather pear-shaped out here, Pickett, and I need your help,” whispered Newt. “I’m locked in here, see.”

 

The Bowtruckle cocked its head in expectation. 

 

“If you can fit through there—that’s it, go on—“ said Newt, helping him through the bars of the little window. “The locks are down there. Six of them. Shouldn’t take long, right?” 

 

Pickett looked at Newt dubiously as he clambered down the outside of the door, clinging to the keyholes like a ladder. Newt smiled encouragingly at the little creature. 

 

“That’s it. That’s right. Just one at a time, Pickett.” 

 

Newt could see the Bowtruckle was in his element. The leaves on his head had even perked up a little. The creature worked deft, spindly fingers into the lock. Newt cracked a smile as he heard the tell-tale click. 

 

The Bowtruckle worked his way carefully down the series of six locks. Click after click, Newt heard them open. 

 

Newt scooped up his suitcase and met the Bowtruckle at the barred window. Tensed for his escape, he pulled on the door. 

 

It didn’t open.

 

“Bugger,” said Newt at once. He shut his eyes. “I should have known—goblin-made locks are never that simple.” 

 

The Bowtruckle squealed. 

 

“No, Pickett,” Newt assured him. “You’ve done perfectly fine, and I’m very grateful.”

 

Newt’s mind was racing. There was something with the _keys_ when the goblins brought him here. When all turned at once, the door had opened. Opening the locks one at a time simply wouldn’t do. All six must be opened at once. 

 

Six locks. 

 

_Six Bowtruckles._

 

“Right,” said Newt, almost laughing out loud. “ _Six_. Pickett, we are _absurdly_ lucky.” 

 

Once more into the suitcase, Newt rushed up to the Bowtruckle tree. The other Bowtruckles hissed when they saw Pickett return. 

 

“Stop that,” said Newt sharply. Then he looked upon the little colony warmly. “Right, as it turns out, I’m in great need of _everyone’s_ help.”

 

It took the other Bowtruckles some convincing and a healthy bribe of wood lice to get them to climb on Newt’s shoulder. 

 

Titus was the least eager to leave the tree, but Poppy, the one female of the colony, who favored Titus most of all, mewled at him sweetly and shook her head-leaves. Given in to her feminine whims, Titus begrudgingly crawled up Newt’s sleeves. 

 

Newt climbed out of his suitcase. Shoulders crowned with six Bowtruckles, he came to the door once more. 

 

“Follow Pickett,” he told the Bowtruckles. “He knows what to do, he’ll show you. Come along.”

 

Poppy went first after Pickett, then Finn, Marlow, Tom, and last of all, Titus. The Bowtruckles scrabbled down the locks, and they each hooked themselves into a keyhole. 

 

“Right,” directed Newt. “They’ve all got to be open at the same time. As soon as you’ve got it open— _hold it_!”

 

Five perplexed Bowtruckle faces looked up at Newt. 

 

Right. How could they possibly understand? 

 

Then Pickett squeaked enthusiastically for several seconds. Newt smiled. It seemed Pickett was _translating_ for him. Most interesting! He only hoped Pickett actually understood that all the locks were meant to be open at once…. 

 

But Titus didn’t look happy at all to take orders from Pickett. He beat his little fingers on the iron and made to climb back up through the window.

 

“Titus…” started Newt. Titus clambered over Finn’s shoulders… and knocked the other Bowtruckle loose from the door. 

 

Finn seemed to sail in slow-motion through the air. Five pairs of Bowtruckle eyes swiveled as they watched him hit the ground with a little _pat_. 

 

Finn appeared unharmed, though dazed from the impact, and he was now several feet below his companions. He cried out and clambered at the smooth door, but there were no keyholes to latch his fingers into.  He slid pathetically to the floor. 

 

“Finn, Finn,” said Newt hurriedly. “Now stay calm, don’t worry. I’m coming to get you.”

 

Newt tore around the apartment, looking for a piece of string, some fabric he could tear to retrieve the fallen Bowtruckle. But he stopped when he heard the excited cries of the Bowtruckles from outside, who seemed to be rallying together. 

 

Newt’s eyebrows raised upon witnessing the Bowtruckles’ behavior. Marlow was currently the most bombastic, and he called directions at the other five. Now all the Bowtruckles were climbing ever lower, lock by lock. 

 

Marlow gripped the bottom keyhole tightly. Then Poppy shimmied over him and gripped his feet. Next came Titus, and soon enough, there was a chain of Bowtruckles, linked finger to foot, hovering about twelve inches above the floor. 

 

The last Bowtruckle in the chain was little Pickett. 

 

Pickett hung upside down, reaching and clawing for Finn. Finn jumped up. The Bowtruckles’ fingers just grazed each other—not close enough to catch. 

 

Pickett squealed up and Marlow lowered himself as much as he could, straining to keep hold of the keyhole by the tips of his fingers. 

 

Finn jumped as high as he could and latched onto Pickett by a single finger. Then, the Bowtruckles grasped each other as Pickett hoisted up Finn. The Bowtruckles rejoiced together, as they pulled the exhausted looking Finn up to higher ground. 

 

Newt couldn’t help but smile. It was true, a simple piece of string could have retrieved Finn. This was far more worthwhile, however. Even Pickett seemed to be smiling and cheering on with the rest of them. Finn affectionally knuckled Pickett’s head in thanks. 

 

Pickett looked up at Newt, who beamed back at him. 

 

“Still must get out of here, Pick,” Newt reminded him. 

 

Pickett squealed once more at the other Bowtruckles. Following the rescue of Finn, they seemed more keen to follow him. Even Titus seemed cowed, and perhaps even a little guilty for knocking Finn from the door. 

 

The Bowtruckles worked in tandem. Finally, the locks were synchronized.  

 

“Oh, thank Paracelsus,” breathed Newt as the door swung open. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is ON! 
> 
> Double-update, today, yay! Life has been a hooey-doozy for me this past week, filled with many scary uncertainties an insecurities in the real world. 'Twas a comfort to come back here and churn out a few more chapters. 
> 
> I originally had this idea where the locks had to be opened in a specific *sequence*. As funs as they could be in real life, or in a computer game, I kind of felt like it would bog down the story. What do you think?
> 
> I guess Bowtruckles are kinda like Smurfs.


	6. Chapter 6

Newt ushered the six Bowtruckles back into his suitcase and straightened up. Most of the torches had been extinguished, and the darkness of the narrow passage closed in around him. He felt naked without his wand. He snatched one of the torches from the wall and took off quietly down the passage. 

 

At least the goblins seemed to be gone. Newt figured he could easily slip out onto the street and disappear from Sydney before Orlock was any the wiser… though Orlock claimed to be “compromising” for a goblin, Newt did not think it wise to test this particular definition. 

 

Newt tried to remember the sequence of turns that had led him to the cell. There had been many. He figured he ought to take the next left. Newt walked down the passageway for several minutes before he grew nervous. There were no turns to take at all! Surely the final passageway to his cell hadn’t been this long? Then, he came upon a right turn. 

 

No. That was off… He must have missed the left. 

 

Newt spun around and hurried back the way he came. He walked no more than a minute before the passageway ended in a solid wall. Newt pushed at the wall with the palm of his hand. The solid stone was unyielding.  

 

“Bugger,” he said out loud. 

 

So… the passages _were_ shifting as he walked. Orlock hadn’t lied about the enchantments. He doubled back down the hallway, hoping the right turn was still there. It was, and Newt rushed around the corner, fearful it would disappear as he reached it. Then, came another right turn. And another, and another, and another. Newt stopped in his tracks and clutched his case close.

_He was going in circles._

 

Newt set the torch down and crouched on the ground, back against the wall. He rubbed his temples and took several deep breaths. 

 

He knew he mustn’t go any further, or even try to retrace his steps. A creature caught in a trap will struggle and only cause injury to itself. That was what he was now— _trapped_. The further into this maze he wandered, the less likely he could get out unscathed. Or at all. Would Orlock come and find him in the morning to throw him back in the cell? Would he and his creatures be trapped in this maze until they all starved? The suitcase was well stocked. Perhaps they could survive here for a time…. 

 

Perhaps his brother, the Auror, would grow suspicious after Newt’s stream of letters stopped. Theseus would soon know where Newt was, for he’d written Thesus after docking in Sydney. But that could take _months_ … and it was unlikely Theseus could trace him to the catacombs. Newt shuddered to think that was his only hope. 

 

There came an insistent rapping noise from the suitcase, and a series of eager “ook”s. 

 

Newt clutched his knees forlornly and said, “Best you stay in there, Dougal. I’m not certain it’s safe.”

 

But the Demiguise only strained harder against the lid of the suitcase. Newt sighed and unhooked the latch. With curious, glowing eyes, Dougal clambered out, and Newt had to admit, he was relieved for the company. 

 

“Don’t stray far, now, Dougal.” 

 

The Demiguise seemed to heed him. He pawed around the passageway for a few minutes, but stayed within feet of Newt. 

 

Guilt weighed heavily on Newt’s chest. Dougal had been only half-grown when he’d rescued him from the poachers. Newt had healed his wounds, offered him refuge, practically raised the little bugger—he dared not release the young Demiguise cub back to the wilds while poaching was still so rampant. And to think that Dougal was no better off with him in the end. All the other creatures he carried with him… he’d led them to their doom as well, even if they didn’t know it. The Graphorns… to think the last breeding pair in existence could perish in these tunnels… all thanks to him. Newt hung his head. 

 

Suddenly a blue haze of premonition clouded Dougal’s eyes. Newt straightened up, waiting for an explosion. He watched the Demiguise carefully. Without warning, Dougal sprinted off into the dark. 

 

“Dougal, wait!” said Newt. The wizard sprang to his feet and grabbed the torch and suitcase. Hastily, he took off after the fleeing Demiguise. 

 

Newt could barely keep up. He caught a glimpse of Dougal’s silvery tail in the torchlight whipping around a corner. Just as Newt made the turn, he heard the stone behind him shift. 

 

In the next passageway, the Demiguise waited calmly, peering around in the dark. Newt looked over his shoulder to see solid stone where an empty space—and Newt—had just been. 

 

“Dougal,” said Newt, amazed. 

 

Wonder and curiosity replaced fear. The passageways shifted in response to Newt’s movements, trapping him. But a Demiguise, with the power of foresight, could anticipate the shifting walls. A smile twitched onto Newt’s face. Now _this_ was interesting. The goblin tunnels shifted in anticipation of where Newt would go next. But the Demiguise could see chains of probability. Maybe, just maybe, the Demiguise could outsmart the shifting of the tunnels. 

 

Newt watched the Demiguise quietly, knees bent, ready to run. After several long minutes, the Demiguise’s eyes glowed blue again. Dougal hopped off silently. Newt followed. 

 

This time, they made three turns, narrowly missing the shifting of the walls. Newt wondered if they were getting close. 

 

By Dougal’s fifth premonition. Newt whipped around a corner, just catching up to the Demiguise… but instead of an open passageway, they faced a solid stone wall. Dougal puttered around, agitated.

 

“That wasn’t in your premonition, was it, Dougal?” said Newt out loud. He clenched his jaw. “The catacombs must be learning…”

 

 _Well, we can learn too,_ thought Newt. 

 

“To me, Dougal,” said Newt. The Demiguise hopped onto Newt’s shoulders and wrapped his legs around his waist. 

 

Newt closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. 

 

 _I’m going to go left. I’m going to go left, I’m going to go lef_ …

 

He repeated the phrase over and over until he nearly believed it himself. He slowly turned left, preparing to set his foot down… then darted right. 

 

Newt ran as fast as he could. The stone rumbled around him. With horror, Newt realized the tunnel was growing narrower and narrower. He was going to be crushed…

 

Dougal screeched in his ear. Newt turned sideways and clutched the Demiguise tightly against his hip. The suitcase scraped against the sides of the shrinking tunnels and Newt hurried on. The torch hit stone, and was knocked loose from his hand. Newt was plunged into darkness as the shrinking tunnel behind him swallowed up his only source of light. 

 

There was an opening, though, an end to the tunnel and Newt was almost upon it. Dougal whimpered in his ear. 

 

“Go, Dougal, now!” shouted Newt. The Demiguise sprang from Newt’s shoulder and dove through the shrinking hole. Dougal spun his head back, anxiously looking back at the wizard. 

 

Newt was now only a few feet from the opening. He dropped the suitcase on the floor and gave it a forceful kick with the side of his foot. It slid safely out the end of the tunnel, and Newt hurried after it. 

 

He had only inches to spare now, and the rock pressed against his back. The stone was getting closer and closer to his face… now it was pressed against his chest, crushing him. 

 

With a roar, Newt fought, feeling the air being squeezed from his chest, and the rough stone scraping his skin. With a herculean push, Newt forced himself from the shrinking passage and collapsed to the floor of the open tunnel, utterly winded. The passageway closed behind him, becoming a seamless stone wall.

 

Dougal’s face spun above him. Newt tenderly touched his chest and winced. His shirt had been torn to shreds. His skin was bloody and stinging where he’d scraped it against the rock. But he was alive. Gingerly, he sat up, breathing heavily. He looked around.

 

Newt recognized where he was at once and could have laughed out loud. He knew where he was--and he was free from the maze. 

 

“Come on, Dougal. We must pay a visit to Mr. Orlock’s office.” 

 

He rose to his feet and collected his suitcase. With Dougal trailing behind, he limped through the familiar door before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who reviewed! I find them super motivating. 
> 
> Loved writing this chapter. Based on an actual nightmare I once had.
> 
> I'm anticipating about 2/3 more chapters to wrap this story up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up! This chapter does get a bit bloody and violent. Just so yous is awares.

In the space of one day, Newt had been thrown from the rafters, knocked unconscious, and nearly crushed to death amidst moving stone walls. Suffice to say, the young wizard was feeling rather worse for the wear as he pushed his way into Orlock’s office. Blood streamed down his front, and his breath came unsteadily. His ribs were feeling rather squeezed—each inhale eliciting a sharp pang in his chest—and a raging pressure was building behind his eyes. 

 

Newt was pleased to discover three things, however. First, Orlock’s office was not locked or boobied in any way and he crossed the threshold with no difficulty. Second, a few ornate wall sconces burst to life with flame as he entered, allowing Newt a full view of the office. 

 

Third, the Niffler was still there, huddled in his little crystal box upon the goblin’s grand desk. 

 

Clutching his chest, Newt breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced at Dougal, who sauntered into the room behind him. The Demiguise was unalarmed. Perhaps, just maybe, he could slip away unseen. 

 

Newt ran his calloused fingers over the crystal box. Within, the Niffler stirred and blinked its beady eyes at the wizard. The creature’s long snout snuffled up against the glassy wall. He pawed at his confines. Newt marveled at the smoothness of the box. All the joints were perfect, seemingly fused together. There was no way for anything to escape that box. Not even a Niffler. 

 

“Don’t you worry,” said Newt soothingly. “We’re going to get you out of there.”

 

Newt fingers searched for a hidden latch on the outside of the crystal box. After the difficult and treacherous escape from his cell, he was surprised at how easily he found it. His fingers caught upon a small indent, and a round hatch in the side of the box appeared and fell open. 

 

The Niffler lifted his head hopefully and sniffed the fresh air that filled his prison. He was perfectly frozen, as if in shock, for one long moment. Then, he sprang through the hole like a canon and scurried off. 

 

“Wait!” shouted Newt, kicking himself for not thinking of a more straightforward way to release the Niffler into his suitcase. However, the Niffler paid him no mind; there were more important things for a small, gold-loving beast attend to. Newt unsuccessfully chased the creature around the office—a feat made difficult by his injuries and the Niffler’s speed. 

 

Newt saw it happen in an instant. The little, mole-like creature spotted his prize and froze for half a second. His backside wiggled in anticipation, and he sprang forward at Orlock’s great safe, contorting his body between the crack of the door, disappearing to the interior. 

 

Newt swore silently to himself. Not that he could really blame the little bugger; the poor thing had been imprisoned all day next to whatever treasures were housed in the safe. And he’d been deprived. Of course he’d gone straight for the safe! Without his wand, though, Newt couldn’t see how he could retrieve the Niffler from the safe and get them all out of there. 

 

Dougal, who had watched the whole affair nonchalantly, suddenly gave a worried purr, and vanished. Newt’s stomach clenched. He knew what was about to happen—another blunder, he realized, not to prepare for this. 

 

He turned around just in time to see Orlock’s frame fill the doorway. 

 

With a _bang_ , Newt was knocked heavily to his knees, and his hands were magically bound behind him once more. Pain tore through his chest as his body was jerked by the goblin’s magic, and a snarl escaped him. He peered up, defiantly through his hair at the sneering goblin. 

 

“Well, well, well,” said the goblin, whose tone was more curious than angry. “I am disappointed, Mr. Scamander. Very disappointed. We did have an agreement. A rather good one I thought. You had much to gain… and everything to lose.”

 

There was a sinister pause. Orlock’s eyes took in Newt’s bloody shirt. 

 

 _“_ I’m also impressed. I can’t say I’ve ever had a guest make it out of the tunnels before. How _did_ you manage it?”

 

Newt said nothing. He was watching Dougal out of the corner of his eyes. The Demiguise was invisible, but Newt could see faint footprints on the carpet as Dougal crept along the far wall. 

 

Orlock was studying him. 

 

“No… it’s impossible to get past the tunnels,” said the goblin slowly. “You couldn’t have managed on your own. Somebody helped you.”

 

The goblin’s eyes spun around the room, as if expecting to see another wizard there. 

 

Still, Newt said nothing. He was keenly aware of two things. First, Orlock hadn’t seemed to notice that Niffler was not in his case. And second, though the door was ajar, Dougal was still in the room with him. 

 

The goblin’s fist suddenly collided with the side of his head, and Newt fell over, pain tearing through him. Then, the goblin’s boot stamped down on his broken chest—hard. 

 

“Who helped you? Where are they?” demanded the goblin. 

 

“No one helped me,” said Newt, raggedly. The pain was unbearable. He’d never wished more for his wand. 

 

“You’re lying, Scamander,” said Orlock, and the boot came down again, harder this time. Newt stifled a yell.

 

Orlock finally removed his foot from Newt’s chest and paced around the room. Newt hung in a haze of pain, desperately trying to collect his thoughts. 

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Orlock, his voice oddly kind. “You’re thinking I’m going to kill you, that this can’t possibly end well for you. And as you have nothing more to lose, you may as well not give up your friend. At least that’d be a noble way to go, right?”

 

Orlock paused to lick his lips. 

 

“You’ll be happy to hear there’s a scenario in which you still make it out alive. As a said, I can be compromising. I can be _forgiving_. But I need you to tell me who helped you, and where they are now.”

 

Newt’s mind went to Theseus, his brother, the Auror. Theseus would know what to do. All Aurors had to be trained on protocol should they be captured and interrogated by an enemy. But Newt was not Theseus, and so he said the first thing he could think of that may buy him a little more time. 

 

“He’s here,” rasped Newt. “In this room.”

 

The goblin glanced around the room. 

 

“What do you mean _here_? There’s no one else here.”

 

“No, no, he’s definitely here.” 

 

“What, wearing an Invisibility Cloak, is he?”

 

“I suppose you could say that,” said Newt, weakly. The imprints of Dougal’s paws were still firm in the carpet against the far wall. 

 

“Well, where is he, then?”

 

“Well,” said Newt, feigning impatience, “if he’s invisible, how am I supposed to know?” 

 

The goblin rolled his eyes. 

 

“Oh, never mind you. _Wizards_. I’ll find him myself!”

 

The goblin clapped his hands together, and a ring of magic burst around the room. The Demiguise, however, not being a human remained perfectly still, and unaffected by goblin magic. 

 

“You know, he may have left,” said Newt. “He is invisible, after all, I wouldn’t have seen him—“

 

That scored him an annoyed kick in the head. When the stars cleared from Newt’s vision, he saw an interesting sight: Orlock pacing slowly around his office, arms outstretched like a blind man. Newt’s heart raced as the goblin got closer to Dougal’s hiding spot. 

 

Orlock snarled as his fingers met resistance. Newt cried out as the goblin grabbed a fistful of invisible fur. 

 

It all happened in a terrible flash. The Demiguise shrieked, and then Orlock did too. There was an explosion as items, glass and metal, burst from the shelves, and suddenly Orlock was crouched on the ground, screaming, clutching his hand. Where there had been goblin claws before were now two bloody stumps. 

 

“Dougal!” shouted Newt. 

 

The goblin’s eyes swiveled from his mangled, bloody hand to Newt. 

 

“ _You_!” he snarled, and he rose to his feet, murder written in his beetle-black eyes. 

 

Just then, the Niffler poked his nose from the crack in the safe and peered curiously at the current commotion. With great effort, he squeezed the rest of his fluffy body through the space, and scurried across the room. 

 

The Niffler was slower than before, though, and his paws could barely reach past his now-burgeoning belly. The Niffler stumbled and somersaulted as he tried to scurry over Newt’s outstretched legs. And the Niffler fell on his back, treasure overflowed from his pouch across the floor. 

 

The Niffler righted himself, and hurriedly went about stuffing the treasure back in his pouch. Newt blinked at the sight. He blinked because he was amazed. And he was amazed because somehow, his very own wand was among the Niffler’s gold and jewels.

 

“Thank you,” he said to the Niffler. Then, he rolled over, reaching for his wand with his hands behind his back. Relief flooded over him as he grasped the familiar wooden rod, and warmth filled his fingers as the wand reconnected with its master.

 

With a flash, his hands were free, and Newt stumbled to his feet. 

 

Orlock, his hand maimed, was too slow to summon another bout of his goblin magic. Newt stunned him. Then, he hurried over to make sure the goblin was well and truly out. The goblin's face was deathly pale. His eyes, half open, were blank and unseeing. His chest rose and fell faintly. Newt figured he would be out for a while.

 

For a moment, he stood there in a fog. It was Dougal who brought him back. The Demiguise rematerialized and hopped on his back. Newt glanced back at the little fellow, who gazed at him innocently through a face bathed in blood. 

 

“Well done, Dougal,” he breathed. “Probably best we get out of here."

 

The Demiguise cooed in response. 

 

The Niffler clambered over the unconscious goblins face, paws wriggling. It took a second for Newt to realize what he was doing. 

 

“Oh my,” said Newt. “Er, best not do that…”

 

The Niffler, seemingly unaware of the dangerous scene that had just transpired, was attempting to wrest the goblin’s gold teeth from his mouth. 

 

Newt had an idea. He crouched to the floor and stole a single golden coin from the floor where the Niffler had spilled his pouch. He made a clucking noise. The Niffler looked up at him, expectant. Newt moved the coin back and form, and the Niffler’s eyes followed it, hypnotized. His paws rested, the goblin’s teeth quite forgotten. 

 

Keeping the coin aloft, Newt walked over to his suitcase, opened it. He chucked the coin inside. The Niffler bolted after it, and Newt latched the suitcase behind him. 

 

“Well, he’ll be safe now at least,” said Newt. 

 

Suitcase in hand and Demiguise on his shoulders, the wizard stumbled to his feet and limped out of the catacombs. He reached the street, and breathed in the cool night air. The city sprawled before him, the lights glittering like a fistful of gemstones. 

 

With a little _pop_ , Newt Disapparated. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the feedback! I've honestly never had so much fun writing a fanfic before. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. This story is wrapping up, but there's a bit more to follow. :)
> 
> A few headcanon notes: 
> 
> 1) I was trying to work out why on earth Newt had a Niffler in his case (other than "it's a good comedic foil"). Nifflers are native to Britain, so why would Newt have one on his travels? Most of the creatures in Newt's case were foreign/exotic to Britain, thus providing a reason for Newt to have a specimen, or else rescued from abusive situations. I figured the Niffler most easily fit into the second category. Best way to explain why he had the little guy with him in New York. 
> 
> 2) I figured goblins are native to Europe (I mean, European folklore after all) but sort of followed some of the human migration patterns. I wouldn't be surprised if the founders of the goblin community in Australia were somewhat unsavory characters fleeing the law or other troubles. So while the Gringotts goblins are treacherous, they are refined. They have a strict code. The goblins who ended up in Australia took on a few different tactics to make their way in the world. Orlock is a bit different from British goblins in that he won't hold a contract to a T--but he's very motivated by personal gain. 
> 
> I was also intrigued by the idea of Australian goblins being really poor at handling Nifflers, even though goblins are noted as being very fond of them for digging up treasure. Cultural knowledge often gets lost with transcontinental migrations, and I figured this is what happened to the Australian goblins who may be a generation or so removed from ancestors who may have known more about Nifflers. (Sorry if any of my headcanons directly contradict Pottermore.) 
> 
> 3) In the movie, Newt states "Demiguises are fundamentally peaceful but can give a nasty nip if provoked." I was almost certain he'd seen Dougal get "provoked" at least once, so I wrote it into the story.


	8. Chapter 8

In the top corner room of an anonymous boarding house, on the far end of the city, a simple brown suitcase lay open on a bare, splintery floor. 

 

Dougal seemed happy to be home after the nighttime adventure, and Newt watched the Demiguise hop off eagerly towards his little den. The wizard himself hobbled through his shed, gripping his work bench to keep balance. It was a wonder, he realized, that he’d had the strength left to Apparate.

 

With a trembling hand, Newt used his wand to cut off his ruined shirt and surveyed the damage beneath. The skin on his chest was absolutely shredded from his scrape with the stone wall. He collapsed, seated, onto the camp bed. Tenderly, he pressed on his ribs, finding the fractures, and wordlessly, wincing, healed them one by one. His breathing became easier, and the pain subsided entirely once he’d healed the skin as well. 

 

Luckily, Newt surmised, his internal organs remained undamaged—though years working with magical creatures had made Newt quite handy at basic healing charms, more serious internal injuries were beyond his scope.

 

At his work bench, Newt set his traveling kettle to boil with a flick of his wand and threw together an concoction of magical herbs—that would help him get his strength back. 

 

As it steeped, Newt waved his wand hopefully at his ruined shirt. The shreds wound themselves together neatly, but the stain-lifting charm did less well—he’d never really had the knack for that one. The bright red bloodstains faded to a blushing pink. Newt sighed, resigned, and shrugged on a spare shirt. Buttoning it up, he departed the shed to pay a visit to his creatures. 

 

A mountain of gold and jewels greeted him outside the shed. 

 

Newt froze and stared. Atop the great pile, snoring and kicking his legs in a wistful slumber, lay the Niffler. 

 

It was a funny thing, Newt reflected. Muggles perpetuated a curious notion about _dragons_ hoarding and cherishing treasure—but the the Muggle impression of a dragon more closely resembled that of a Niffler.

 

Newt took a sober moment to reflect on his current circumstances. He had just, technically, robbed a powerful and vindictive goblin criminal of a Niffler, two fingers, and an absolutely absurd amount of gold and gems. He realized that might put a crimp in the rest of his Australian field research plans…

 

Newt sighed and returned to his shed. Best left until morning, he figured. He downed the herbal cocktail, collapsed on the cot, and fell asleep in an instant. 

 

* * *

 

Newt lay low for the next few days and busied himself around the case. He knew next to nothing about the goblin, but he suspected Orlock was the sort who had eyes in many places.  Newt knew he’d be easily spotted in the harbor. 

 

Besides, there was plenty to do inside the case—creatures to tend to and observe, the manuscript to work on… and, he supposed, with some remorse, that his field schedule could be rearranged. 

 

Newt’s suitcase seemed to agree with the Niffler. Over Newt’s days in hiding, the Niffler became fatter, fluffier, and his eyes cleared up. The new golden burrow had done wonders for the creature. Newt had provided the creature with plenty of tubers and insects to eat, though the Niffler had developed an appetite for Mooncalf pellets as well. When not eating, the Niffler snoozed happily in his mound of gold, turning over, and kicking his legs in happy dreams of snatching treasure. 

 

It was, well, an _absolutely stupid_ amount of gold. Newt didn’t know what to do with it. On one hand, he reasoned the Niffler had fair-and-square stolen the lot of it—Orlock had kept the poor thing prisoner, after all. On the other hand, he knew Orlock himself hadn’t acquired such a fortune through honest means. 

 

Less morally and more practically speaking, he knew that Orlock probably wanted his gold back, and would do some ugly things to get it. Newt was never one to admit he was worried… but the word “concerned” certainly applied. He’d seen what Orlock was capable of. 

 

There was also the matter of magical law enforcement. Newt usually slipped passed wizard customs and traveled on his Muggle passport, as arranging all the paperwork to transport his huge variety of creatures through every country on his itinerary was nigh impossible (and rather pointless, in his opinion)… but he did run the risk of landing himself in a spot of trouble should he be caught. Add an enormous pile of stolen gold to the illegal contents of his case, and he was asking for a disaster. 

 

There was a world of difference between transporting magical creatures across borders without the proper paperwork, and giving the appearance that you had been using one of said creatures to steal a fortune. In Britain, that could land him in Azkaban for a decade, easily.

 

Newt strolled through his case, hands in his pockets. If the potential consequences weren’t so dire, it would almost be funny, he mused. Newt Scamander, Magizoologist turned gold thief! It was absurd. 

 

The Niffler, happily stacking coins, peered at Newt from his burrow. He’d been the only Niffler, Orlock had said. The prototype. Still, if Orlock was willing to enslave a Niffler once, he’d surely do it again. 

 

He’d be asking for trouble if he went to the local Aurors himself, for there was only so much he could tell them without giving away his own legal shortcomings. But he couldn’t stay in Sydney either. And he knew he couldn’t go up against Orlock and his army of goblins alone. 

 

“I suppose there’s nothing else for it, then,” said Newt to the Niffler. He sighed. It was time to poke his head out. 

 

* * *

 

Newt was not good at disguises. That, too, was Theseus’s domain as an Auror. Newt did know a few useful camouflage charms to look like a rock, tree, or mud puddle. Very useful in the field; utterly useless in the city. 

 

So it was, Newt felt rather self-conscious as he crept back to the underground wizard pub. It was too hot for a coat, but still he wore his, collar turned up against his cheek. The mustache charm he’d fashioned bristled uncomfortably on his lip. With any luck, he looked nothing like the Newt Scamander anyone had seen a few days ago. 

 

He sidled up to the bar and took a seat. The pretty, golden-haired barmaid was still there, with a rather salty look on her face. She swept up to him, distractedly waving a wand behind her head, causing three large mugs of brew to sail across the room. 

 

“What’ll it be?” she said in a clipped voice, looking up to him. She did a double-take, and made a rather uncomfortable noise like she was suppressing a laugh. 

 

The barmaid bit her knuckle, scrunched here eyes, and leaned forward. She said in a whisper, “You didn’t take my advice, did you?”

 

“I’m sorry, have we met?” said Newt, desperate to uphold a pretense. 

 

“Oh, you can drop that act,” the girl chided him. “I’d wager whatever you’re hiding from isn’t the problem you think it is. Least not anymore.”

 

“What?” said Newt. 

 

The barmaid’s eyes swept the room warily. 

 

“You stay put,” she said simply, before peeling off to attend to other customers. 

 

Newt nervously fiddled his fingers as the barmaid busied herself around the room. He glanced over his shoulder. None of the witches and wizards seemed to notice him. And there were no goblins here today…

 

Then, the barmaid was back. She leaned on her elbows over the bar, keeping her voice hushed. 

 

“Aginook,” she said. 

 

“Excuse me?” said Newt. 

 

“All anyone’s been talking about the past two days,” she said. “I told you not to get mixed up with him. But _something_ happened, and I’m betting you’re a part of it. I saw you and him talking, and now you come in here all disguised, like you’re frightened for your life…”

 

Newt’s heart was pounding. 

 

“What happened, exactly?” He had no idea what this witch was getting at…

 

“You really don’t know! Well, old Aginook got taken in the other day, they’re saying,” said the barmaid. “Killed some kind of boss. Not a Muggle boss. I’m hearing he was a Squib, actually. But they’re saying he was powerful, in his own way. Had Muggles and wizards working for him. Never heard anything like it.

 

“Well, apparently, Aginook couldn’t come up with the money he owed to this Squib-boss fellow. Tried to skip town instead. But they caught him. Big, ah… sort of mess their saying. Said Aginoook slit the boss’s throat with his own claw, but only after he took out two wizards and a Muggle working for the fellow. Never heard anything like it. They’re saying he fought like a rabid animal. And there were Muggles there! Can you believe it? Anyway, no one went out quietly—meaning it was loud, and Muggles saw—and the Aurors caught wind of it. They arrested Aginook on the spot.”

 

Newt stared at her, wide-eyed. 

 

“Oh,” he said. It was all he could think of to say. 

 

“But that’s not the half of it,” continued the witch. She polished a mug on her apron. “They’re saying Aginook bargained after the Aurors took him in.”

 

“Bargained?” 

 

“Yeah. Bargained. Sweeter sentence, that sort of thing. Dungeon that doesn’t have a puddle in it, you know. He informed on an associate… someone the Aurors have been trying to nab for years but could never get any real dirt on.” 

 

Newt’s heart sped up. 

 

“Would that have been a goblin by the name of Orlock, by any chance?”

 

The witch smiled knowingly at him. 

 

“So you know about _him_ , do you?”

 

“I’ve heard some things,” said Newt, leaving it at that. 

 

The witch regarded him suspiciously for a moment. 

 

“Well, Aginook gave them enough to do a proper raid on Orlock. Arrested his whole lot, they did.”

 

Newt’s heart suddenly lightened. If Orlock had been arrested… then he had nothing to worry about really. (Not that he really _worried,_ per se…) And if Orlock was being put away, that would certainly mean no more trouble with Nifflers in Sydney. 

 

But there was one last track to cover…

 

“You, er, you mentioned once that you offer your patrons a certain amount of discretion, didn’t you?”

 

She took his meaning with a raised eyebrow—that it would be best if Newt’s association with goblins remain unannounced to the authorities.  

 

“Sure do. To _paying_ customers, of course,” she said, a little slyly. 

 

Newt reached into his pocket and placed a large fistful of gold on the bar. The witch’s eyes widened. 

 

“Would… would you like something to drink?” she asked numbly, sliding the coins into her apron pocket. “Shot of Victorian Molt?”

 

“No,” said Newt, getting to his feet. “No I would not. But thank you all the same.” 

 

He emerged in broad daylight. He charmed his facial hair back to normal, and slung his heavy overcoat over his elbow, free to appear as Newt Scamander once more. Feeling rather light on the feet, he headed off into the street, daydreaming of Billywigs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! That's the end! You made it! Whew! 
> 
> If you are reading this, thanks for sticking with this story. I mulled over this final chapter waaaaay too long--thanks for your patience if you've been following this one. As it turns out, ending adventure stories is pretty difficult! And this one had a few more moving parts than I originally intended. 
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave a review and let me know what you think. If you like my take on Newt, check out my other fics. I'm a bit addicted to this character, and there's more where that came from.

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I'm making this up as I go along. I'm having a lot of fun with it. And with Newt.


End file.
